


Beauty

by AllHeartsAreBroken



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Domestic Johnlock, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Sherlock in Love, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-24 01:15:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15619203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllHeartsAreBroken/pseuds/AllHeartsAreBroken
Summary: "I love you so much" he whispers tremulously, like he's on the verge of tears.That's when it hits you.Not only do you want to spend the rest of your life with him, but you want to make it official.





	Beauty

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! This is my first time writing a fic in English and I'm pretty nervous. It's really short and I know it's not a masterpiece but I hope it turned out okay :)  
> Many thanks to my wonderful beta Kate and to those who supported me all the way through the writing process <3

 

 

You've been living together for almost three years, but he still never fails to surprise you, to amaze you, to leave you completely speechless with little to no effort.

 You've dealt with the most dangerous serial killers and criminal masterminds, worked on cases that kept you awake for days, but he's still the most fascinating, frustrating and beautifully complex puzzle that ever crossed your path, one you'll probably never be able to solve. But that doesn't put you off in the slightest, no. You'd never want it to lose its magic, its mystery. You love the puzzle of him just the way it is.

John Watson might seem quite ordinary on the outside, and maybe not the cleverest of people: he's a kind and polite man who wears frankly outrageous jumpers, flirts (well, used to flirt) with boring women, cares for social conventions and watches crap telly with the landlady, and most of the time he needs to be told things twice before he can come to an at least partially correct conclusion.

But, oh, you know he's so much more than that. You've gotten to see so many different sides and shades of him.

He's a strong and brave soldier who took many lives in cold blood, and a caring doctor who saved just as many (yours included). He thinks he needs safety and stability, but craves danger and adrenaline, the thrill of the chase, the blood pumping through his veins. Loyal and stubborn, gentle and rough, he is a living paradox that finds balance in his own being.

He's the most remarkable man you've ever known and you love him more than you ever thought possible. You can’t imagine ever wanting anyone else.

 It consumes every cell of your body and it's scary sometimes, but it makes you feel whole and you wouldn't trade it for the world, in spite of what you always made yourself believe about sentiment.

And to you he's the definition of beauty.

Even now, as he puts on the kettle and the kitchen light makes his hair shine with golden sparkles, you can hardly believe that he's real and _yours_.

This incredible creature chose you from amongst billions of people on Earth, despite the fact that you hurt him on so many occasions and that you're probably the most obnoxious arsehole that anyone could possibly have the misfortune to meet.

If someone had told you years ago that something this good would happen to you, you would've laughed in their face.

He realizes you're staring and he smiles tenderly, leaning against the counter. "You okay?".

You nod, smiling back. "Better than okay".

 

\---

 

It happens one cold Saturday night.

You're both lying in bed with a table lamp lighting the room, your legs and hands intertwined, his head on your chest; neither of you is asleep yet, you're just enjoying each other's body warmth and the sound of your breaths in the silence of the flat.

He takes you by surprise when he lifts his head just enough to look at you and caresses your stomach for a few seconds. You immediately start to melt under his delicate touch, and he leans closer to press a tender, chaste kiss on your lips.

You kiss him back, brushing your fingertips along the line of his jaw and tightening your hold around his shoulders, and when he pulls back you're almost overwhelmed by what you see in his eyes.

He's looking at you with infinite fondness and wonder, as if you were a rare, precious diamond he found in a desert after seeing nothing but dry sand, or the first flower blooming after a long winter.

"I love you so much" he whispers tremulously, like he's on the verge of tears.

That's when it hits you.

Not only do you want to spend the rest of your life with him, but you want to make it official. You want to stand in front of friends and family as you put a ring on his finger, look into his bright sapphire-blue eyes and declare the depth of your love and devotion to him; you want to taste the word "husband" on his skin and in his mouth, you want the entire world to know you belong to someone who knows and understands you better than anyone else.

This is all a bit surprising. You've never really believed in marriage, you've always thought of it as merely a useless and suffocating social construct, something you would never find yourself wanting; but then again, this wouldn't be the first exception you make for John Watson.

You didn't even know what loving someone so deeply and unconditionally meant before meeting him, and you couldn't imagine why two people would ever wish to commit themselves to each other for eternity (wouldn't they get bored?). But now you understand.

You just have to decide what to do about this new, unexpected need.

 

\---

 

Days go by and you just don't know how to bring it up.

You took him out for dinner last evening, with candles and red wine, but words didn't seem to want to come out of your mouth. You listened to him talk about his patients and his sister instead, and as soon as you got home you ended up having mind-blowing sex on the kitchen table - the bed was too distant and having his hands and mouth all over your body was driving you crazy; you needed him to be inside you immediately.

Then you lay awake in bed, listening to his delicate snores and wondering what you're so afraid of. 

No, you conclude, you're not afraid. You just don't know what you're supposed to do. 

Should you ask him how he feels about marriage in general or should you just go straight for the proposal and hope he says yes? Should you be as direct and concise as possible or should you make a long and sentimental speech about how much you love him and how lucky you feel to have him by your side?

You hate to admit it, but maybe you need to ask someone who has more experience in this area for advice.

In the end you decided to set the problem aside until today and you fell asleep, holding John a little tighter.

Now you're curled up against him on the couch, holding on to his ugly but fluffy red jumper and trying to focus on the movie you're watching rather than his inebriating scent; however, your attention begins to falter after a few minutes and you start playing with a red thread on his sleeve until it breaks off.

John turns his face to look at you, brows furrowed. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing. Watching the movie" you lie, keeping your eyes fixed on the screen.

An amused smile curves his thin lips as he lifts his brows and takes your hand in his. "Mmm, and tearing my jumper apart"

"How dramatic. It was just a thread".

He presses a kiss on your knuckles and plays with your fingers before going back to watching men shooting at each other and unlikely car chases.

It's mostly little things like this that made you change your mind about domesticity, to the point of making you secretly love it. Just being close to John in any circumstance is extremely fulfilling and he makes you feel infinitely loved; with his stolen kisses, with his hands stroking your hair, with the special smiles only you get to see, and with the words he whispers against your cheek when he holds you in his arms, or into your mouth when he makes love to you. 

You know for sure you'll never get tired of this.

You still have the thread in your free hand, and looking at it makes you think of that Japanese legend you once came across on the Internet, something utterly cheesy about a red string of fate connecting those who are meant to be together (you're surprised you haven't deleted that information yet).

Without really knowing what on earth you're doing, you lift John's left hand and you start tying the fine strand of wool around his ring finger, and he watches with a curious and confused expression.

This is not how you've imagined it happening, but for some reason it feels like the right thing to do.

 "I probably should have got you a golden one" you whisper, caressing the thread with your thumb, and you hear him inhale sharply. 

 You find the courage to look at him through your eyelashes and you feel your stomach flip when you see the sudden realization in his eyes.

 "Sherlock" he says, his voice shaky. "Are you saying you want to...?".

You nod slowly, your heart beating so fast you're sure he can hear the sound of it against your rib cage.

"B-but...are you sure? You know we don't have to. We can live like this, just as we always have. It's enough for me"

"I am sure, John. I'm not trying to make our relationship stronger, because I know it couldn't possibly get any better than this. You already give me everything I need and I'm happy with what we have. But I thought maybe this was something we could...do. Exchange vows, look at pictures of that particular day when we're older, celebrate anniversaries. I thought you might like it".

What you said is true, but it doesn't even come close to what you really feel, what he deserves to hear, what you would have actually wanted to say. You mentally roll your eyes at yourself, even though you know there's no point in worrying about that now.

Neither of you moves nor breathes for what feels like a lifetime, your eyes fixed on each other, the film and the rest of the world completely forgotten.

Then he throws his arms around your shoulders and laughs happily, hiding his face in the crook of your neck, which he then proceeds to kiss a dozen times. A low chuckle vibrates in your throat and you close your eyes, savouring this moment and wanting it to leave its permanent mark on every wall of your Mind Palace.

Of course, you'll have to buy actual rings, but for now this is more than enough.

When you part you look at him with utter adoration and he keeps smiling radiantly, happiness written all over his face in the form of small wrinkles around his watery eyes and dimples on his rosy cheeks.

And there it is, beauty in its purest form.

 

 

 

 


End file.
